


Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 3-4

by readishmael



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Domination/submission, Dubious Consent, Implied Drug Use, M/M, implied self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readishmael/pseuds/readishmael





	Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 3-4

_**Breaking Bad Fic: Killing Time (Just Don't Leave), Parts 3-4**_  
See header on [Parts 1-2](http://readishmael.livejournal.com/4604.html) for warnings and other info.

Mr. White was going to ask him to leave any minute, he just knew it.

Before the other night, he would have seemed fine with letting Jesse hang out instead of having to go home alone, with letting him talk or even letting him gradually ease his way into his personal space—at which point Jesse could normally expect Mr. White to put an arm around his shoulders and let him lean on him. He hadn’t been entirely comfortable doing it, Jesse could tell—increasingly so up until the...the _thing—_ but at least he would have allowed it.

Tonight, though, he’d been tense and unusually quiet, more visibly impatient with anything Jesse’d had to say, and, more troubling than anything else, he’d been strictly maintaining the distance between them, deliberately and pointedly scooting away whenever Jesse got closer. Jesse felt a bit of relief for the sake of his pride that he’d caught on before Mr. White had actually had to switch from the couch to the chair.

He just wished he knew what his bigger mistake was. Had he screwed up more by first getting hard at the wrong time and then asking Mr. White to touch him, or by pulling away while Mr. White was kissing him? (But he hadn’t been able to help that; he’d gotten this sudden image of Mr. White in his underwear and apron from their first time cooking together and suddenly the whole thing was just too much, way too weird.)

He couldn't figure it out. And when the time came and Mr. White asked him to leave, either he could walk out like it was no big deal and he’d never find out, or he could risk an argument he really didn’t want to have and just ask. He tried to prepare himself to do the latter, but he was getting more and more nervous, and as uncomfortable as things were now, he was still hoping to delay it as long as possible.

Which was only a few minutes. Mr. White turned to him, and Jesse felt a rising, helpless sense of dread. He had to stop himself from objecting before Mr. White actually got the words out.

“Jesse,” he opened, and it sounded gentle, almost apologetic. “I've been thinking that we probably shouldn’t be spending so much time together.”

Jesse held himself back; he figured since this whole mess was his fault, he at least owed Mr. White a chance to explain, whether he was being honest or making up the story they were both going to pretend was true...especially since Mr. White was at least making an effort to sound like he wasn't doing it to be an asshole. “Why?”

“I’m pretty sure you know.”

“Actually,” and Jesse paused to make sure he didn’t sound like he was snapping, “I really don’t, yo. I mean, I have an idea, but I don’t really _know_ , like, for sure. What did I do?”

“It’s not...you didn’t do anything, okay? It's not anything like that. I just think some space might be necessary right now. For both our sakes.”

“Nah, come on, don’t give me that, dude. You must be pissed at me.”

“I’m not angry, Jesse.” Clearly lying this time. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re getting defensive.”

Jesse took a deep breath and tried to reclaim his composure. “Fine, then. You’re not pissed at me, even though we both know you got at least two good reasons to be. So why?”

“What reasons would those be?”

“I’m pretty sure you know,” he echoed. He was more just serious than actually angry, but he wasn’t going to let Mr. White, of all people, play stupid with him.

“Actually,” Mr. White shot back, “I really don’t. Yo.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, _fine_. You wanna be an asshole, that’s fine, but I’m done talking around it. Either you’re pissed at me because I asked you to get me off, or you’re pissed at me because I didn’t wanna do anything else. Or because I didn’t return the favor, because, in case you forgot, you wouldn’t let me. Or maybe all three, I don’t know.”

“We already talked about it, in case _you_ forgot. We agreed that it wasn’t a mistake. Or did you change your mind about that, too?”

“So, then, if it wasn’t starting that pissed you off, it must have been stopping, right?”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Mr. White’s eyes narrowed; he was clearly on the edge of totally flipping his shit, and it really made Jesse furious to see it – it wasn’t fucking fair – but he forced himself to calm down. At this point it might not keep Mr. White from attacking, but it couldn’t hurt.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Honest.”

“Because it sounds like you’re accusing me of having illicit intentions toward you. It sounds like you think I want you so badly that I can’t sit next to you for a few hours without getting completely overwhelmed. I thought you grew out of that childish bullshit months ago, but I guess I was wrong. I think you should leave.”

“Mr. White...”

“There’s the door, Jesse.”

Jesse stood there, flummoxed, reaching out blindly for something he could say that would fix this, but he kept coming up short.

After a few seconds of watching him sit there stupidly, Mr. White bounced to his feet, seized him by the arm, and started to drag him toward the door. Jesse panicked—this couldn't happen; not after everything.

“Wait, wait, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, _please_.”

Mr. White stopped and looked at him. His hand was still clamped painfully around Jesse’s upper arm.

“Please what?”

“Just...don’t kick me out, alright? We can...let’s just figure this out, okay? And then if you still don’t wanna hang out anymore, that’s...that's totally cool.”

Mr. White just kept looking at him, and Jesse found himself on the edge of hysteria. Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back. “I’m really sorry. I thought you were trying to get back at me or something, and I got defensive, like you said, but I didn’t mean anything by it. Really.”

Mr. White finally let go of his arm, and Jesse stepped back, making a deliberate effort to block the door just in case Mr. White wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

“Answer one question for me,” Mr. White said finally, “and tell me the truth this time.”

“Okay.”

“Why did this happen?”

Jesse opened his mouth to give an answer he didn’t have, and he stood their gaping and, he was pretty sure, looking like a complete idiot. He knew he didn’t have an honest answer that Mr. White wanted to hear. He’d been sitting there evening after evening with Mr. White, feeling him fidget, feeling him look at him and then glance away quickly whenever Jesse turned toward him, and he’d decided that Mr. White wanted him. And sitting there next to him, wondering if he was going to make some kind of advance, and if so what, and when, he’d started feeling this queasy mix of anxiety and arousal that eventually progressed to the point where it had him stiff and aching in his pants. The only thing that had been different about the other night is that he’d dozed off like a fucking moron.

But Mr. White didn't want to hear that it'd started with him. Jesse knew that wasn’t how things were supposed to work.

“Jesse, answer me.”

“I told you. I got confused by all the touching.”

“You got confused because you _liked_ all the touching.”

“Yeah,” he answered, with a measure of relief; he had a clearer sense now of what Mr. White wanted from him, and it gave him back a sense of control.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay? I got confused because I liked it. It made me feel better.” He said it for Mr. White's benefit—he probably wouldn't be admitting it, otherwise—but, God, it was true.

“And you wanted more.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“So then why did you decide we should stop?”

“I just got freaked out, alright? I needed some time, yo, to, like, think.”

“Think about what?”

“What happened. Or what could happen. What I wanted to happen. What _you_ wanted to happen. All of that.”

“And what do you want to happen?”

And just like that, Mr. White had him backed into a corner. He knew it, but he tried to see if there was a way out, anyway. “I don’t know.”

“If you don’t know, you shouldn’t be here.”

He had to make an offer—that's what it would take. It was obvious Mr. White wanted him to do it in a specific way, but the thought of just coming out and saying it filled him with horror, and he stalled. “Mr. White, yo, I just...I wanna stay.”

“Stay and do what?”

“Whatever you want. Alright? I mean, if you want, you can...I’ll...” He paused, then lamely finished, “whatever.”

“What are you saying, Jesse?”

He met Mr. White’s eyes directly for the first time all night. “You know.”

Mr. White stepped into his space, and Jesse pressed himself back into the door, looking not for escape so much as support. Mr. White put his hands against the door on either side of Jesse’s head, pinning him in place.

“Say it, Jesse. Say it or leave.”

“W-what?”

“You know.” He leaned in close to Jesse’s ear, and then, shockingly, dropped one of his hands down to fondle Jesse through his pants. Jesse felt his cock twitch and start to stiffen immediately.

“Say it. Ask me.”

Jesse laid his head back against the door, closed his eyes, and took a desperate gulp of air. Mr. White responded by squeezing him, hard enough to just barely cross over the line between pleasure and pain. Jesse groaned and dropped his head forward onto Mr. White’s shoulder.

“Come on, Jesse, say it,” Mr. White said, and his authoritative tone was starting to wear a little thin; beneath it was something else, something a little desperate, something that sounded like want.

And, suddenly, Jesse found that he could say it without shame: “Fuck me.” He didn’t lift his head, speaking the words into Mr. White’s collarbone, but they came out clear and strong.

Mr. White exhaled sharply through his nose. “Again,” he demanded, and gave Jesse another little squeeze, lighter this time.

“Fuck me, Mr. White. Please.”

Mr. White made this stunning, satisfying sound that could not possibly have actually been a growl, threaded his fingers into Jesse’s hair and gripped with eye-watering tightness, and slammed their mouths together. After a few seconds, though, he stopped being so rough—cupped his hand gently against the back of Jesse’s head, and made quiet, coaxing noises against Jesse’s mouth that quickened Jesse’s pulse. Obediently, he opened his mouth and let Mr. White's tongue slide against his own.

As soon as Jesse started to return the kiss, Mr. White’s hands dropped to Jesse’s waist and started to raise his T-shirt. He let his fingers trail up along Jesse’s sides as he lifted the shirt to his armpits, and Jesse raised his arms and let Mr. White pull it up over his head and then drop it to the floor.

He expected a quick escalation after that, but Mr. White pressed him back against the door again and proceeded to touch Jesse everywhere, over every inch of bare skin he’d just revealed. His hands were warm, bigger and less smooth than Jesse was used to, and his touch was soft and careful. It made Jesse feel weirdly emotional, and for a second he had the impulse to step closer to Mr. White and wrap him in a hug, just hold onto him and let those hands stroke his back.

The impulse died when Mr. White brushed a thumb over his nipple and Jesse felt a jolt of pleasure in his groin. Instead of reaching out to hug Mr. White, he grabbed his hips and dragged him closer, pressed in tight against him. Their cocks met through their pants and they groaned into each other’s mouths.

Mr. White stepped back. “Come on,” he said, and put his hand out for Jesse to take.

Jesse glanced at the offered hand for a second and considered not taking it – he was perfectly capable of following Mr. White to the bedroom without being led by the hand like a little kid, and if Mr. White was thinking more along the lines of them holding hands like they were a couple or something, that was even worse. But then he took it anyway.

Mr. White directed him into the bedroom without once actually yanking on his arm, which surprised Jesse and, in turn, made him feel kind of like a jerk. When they were both standing at the end of the bed, Mr. White let go of his hand and gave him a serious look.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Jesse’s expression must have communicated just how fucking stupid he thought that question was, because Mr. White didn’t wait for him to actually answer.

“Okay, okay, of course not.”

“Have you?”

Mr. White gave him an oddly blank look. “Which part?”

Whatever that answer was alluding to or hiding, Jesse suddenly really didn’t want to know. Somehow there was still a line here between an acceptable and an unacceptable amount of weirdness, and Jesse wasn’t going to cross it unless he absolutely had to. “Never mind.”

“Sit down,” Mr. White directed, and Jesse did. Mr. White dropped to his knees in front of him, and Jesse’s eyes widened. His entire mind was briefly eclipsed by some formless idea that faded immediately when Mr. White reached for his shoe.

Once Mr. White got Jesse’s shoes off, he sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his own. Then he turned to Jesse again. “Scoot back and lie down,” he said, and Jesse felt a little pinch of irritation.

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, and did as he was told. Mr. White didn’t even seem to hear him.

Once Jesse was situated, Mr. White crawled up on to the bed and started to remove Jesse’s pants, and Jesse’s annoyance grew over how clinical and business-like the whole thing was. By the time Mr. White got his own clothes off (while Jesse stared deliberately at the ceiling) and lay down next to him, his arousal had faded and he was ready to just get the whole thing over with already.

Mr. White directed him to lift his hips, and then shoved a pillow underneath him. Without being told, Jesse pulled his knees up and planted his feet.

There was a pause, and Jesse took a second to realize that Mr. White had gotten distracted by the scabbed-over cut above Jesse's knee, the one he hadn't even really noticed he'd had until Mr. White had pointed it out that night. Now Mr. White traced a finger over it lightly, and Jesse flinched, less at the touch than at the strange, wondering expression on Mr. White's face. His stomach flipped, and a bizarre denial rose to his lips— _It's not what you think_. He didn't even know what it meant, let alone why it made him flush like he was lying, and he pressed his lips tight together to keep it from coming out.

Mr. White drew his hand away and suddenly looked flustered, and Jesse had to make an effort to sound neutral when he asked what was wrong.

“I don’t have anything handy for...you know...”

“Oh.”

“I could go look for something. Get creative.”

“Nah, come on. Let’s just do it already.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. White seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Then he shrugged, and sucked a couple fingers into his mouth. Seeing it, Jesse felt a little flutter of uneasiness and wondered if he hadn’t made a mistake being so impatient.

“Relax,” Mr. White told him, and then started to slide the first finger up his ass.

It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it kind of burned, and it already definitely felt like too much. He clenched down. Mr. White stopped and kept quiet while Jesse took a couple of deep breaths and slowly relaxed.

It stopped feeling like such an invasion, but even as he started to get used to the in and out motion, he could only be mystified as to how so many people could actually _like_ this. He remembered Wendy telling him once about how some of the guys who came by to pick her up would ask her to do this, would even pay extra for it, a lot extra, and who the hell would pay –

 _Holy shit_. His eyes flew open, and he saw Mr. White smiling at him...a nice, honest smile that made Jesse feel kind of like a jerk again.

“What was that?”

“Your prostate gland.”

“That thing that makes old dudes have to pee all the time?”

Mr. White looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “Commercials. They have a bunch of drugs that are supposed to help, like, shrink it or something.”

Mr. White smiled again, not as nice this time. Jesse shifted a little on the bed, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Can you get on with it, please?”

“Okay. Stay relaxed.”

“I _am_...oh fuck.” Mr. White started working a second finger into him, and now it definitely felt more than weird.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, just relax.”

Jesse bit his lip to keep from telling him to shut up. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing and not the little flashes of pain from where he was being stretched.

When the second finger was all the way in, Mr. White paused, and then did something to hit that spot again. Jesse gasped and jerked his hips, and he felt his cock swell. He was still only half-hard, and if it kept hurting, he didn’t expect that to change or for himself to get much out of this, but, Christ, that felt _amazing_.

When Mr. White started to slide his fingers back out, Jesse surprised himself by thrusting back against his hand. Mr. White made a startled noise and then gave Jesse what he wanted, pushed back in and pressed his fingers against his prostate. Jesse moaned, and Mr. White kept doing it, until Jesse started to realize that the fingers didn’t hurt anymore, that the feel of them inside him was actually kind of...good. Still weird, but not unpleasant.

Mr. White seemed to notice, too, and took it as a cue to withdraw his hand. Jesse glared at him.

“Are you ready?”

“I...yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Jesus... _Yes_ , I’m ready. Just...what about...?”

“What about what?”

“You're not gonna use a condom?”

Mr. White looked surprised, and Jesse felt an unexpected flash of amused sympathy— _It's been awhile_ —that made him add, “I mean, what happened, Mr. Lab Safety?”

“Do I need one?” Mr. White asked him impatiently, and Jesse's good feeling evaporated.

“No, but...”

“But?”

“Since when do you trust me?”

“I know you're not that stupid.”

“Right,” he scoffed.

“Do you want me to use one?”

Jesse considered carefully, trying to ignore how insistently Mr. White's expectant silence was obviously pushing him to say no. He weighed an instinctual distaste at the idea of what it would feel like against an awareness that it would all be over more quickly without one.

“Nah. It's okay.”

Mr. White favored him with a warm, pleased smile that made Jesse swallow hard. Then he spit into his hand and wrapped it around his cock, slicking himself up and stroking himself to full hardness. Jesse found himself watching, and tore his eyes away to stare at the ceiling again.

Too weird.

He listened and tried not to wince as Mr. White spit a couple more times, and then he was between his legs, and then on top of him. He guided himself to Jesse’s entrance and slowly started to push up inside him.

It _really_ fucking hurt. Jesse gritted his teeth and breathed harshly through his nose as Mr. White finally sunk in all the way, then froze.

The pain faded a little, but not much, and he was pretty sure no matter how long Mr. White waited it was going to flare up again as soon as he moved.

But Mr. White stayed still a while longer, and gave him a questioning look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm great. You?”

“Seriously. How is it? Does it hurt?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

“Should I...?”

“Nah, it’s...it’s getting better. Mostly it just feels weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Jesus, you wanna switch places and find out?”

“...Do _you_ want to switch places?”

“...Would you even let me?” No answer. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“But do you want to?”

“Fuck, man, I don’t know. Maybe. Right now I just want for you to get on with it already.”

“Are you sure?”

“What, you want it in writing? Yes, I said. God.”

It hurt as much as Jesse had expected when Walt pulled out and then thrust back in, but it was manageable, and after the first couple thrusts the pain did start to fade a little again. Soon he no longer had to concentrate so much to be able to bear it, and instead began to wonder how he could help Mr. White hit that spot.

Experimentally, he rolled his hips and arched his back, and then pushed back into Mr. White’s next thrust—and suddenly there it was. He shuddered, feeling hot and cold at the same time, and his cock jerked. Once Mr. White had adjusted to the new angle and managed to graze his prostate again, and then again, Jesse started to believe he might actually have a shot at getting off from this after all.

Then Mr. White sped up, and his thrusts became shallower, and Jesse realized all that was left for him was to wait it out. The pain was almost completely gone, reduced to a low ache that he imagined was going to be with him for a while, and that strange, unlikely pleasant feeling – that _fullness_ – was back, but it wasn’t going to be enough, not even to get him worked up enough to really care if he got off or not.

Mr. White was panting, his hips jerking rapidly, and then both his breathing and his movements stuttered. He went rigid, and Jesse felt him come inside him.

He took a little time to recover, easing himself down on top of Jesse until his breathing evened out, after which he rolled clumsily off of him. As soon as the weight was gone, Jesse got up. He wanted to clean himself up _right now_.

Mr. White let him shuffle carefully into the bathroom and close the door without saying a word. When he was done and came back into the bedroom, Mr. White was dozing off.

Jesse got his pants back on, and when he sat down at the end of the bed to put his shoes on, Mr. White woke up enough to talk to him.

“You’re leaving?” he asked. He sounded surprised and kind of affronted, and it annoyed Jesse to hear it. Like when Jesse'd said he wanted to stay, he’d meant forever. Jesus, he’d just wanted to fix things, not move in.

But he gave Mr. White the opening, anyway, mostly because he was curious. “You want me to stay?”

Mr. White made a vague, noncommittal noise. Then: “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Be good.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

Jesse picked up his shirt on the way to the front door, put it on, and left.

He resolutely did not think about what would happen next.  


*************************************************************************  
 

Jesse was waiting for Mr. White to make a move.

He knew the dude hadn’t come over just to sit next to him on his futon and watch _Mythbusters_ , even if it did give him the opportunity to spend every commercial break lecturing about the improper application of the scientific method or whatever the hell he was talking about.

Not that Jesse wasn’t glad for the company, even with how annoying Mr. White was being. The problem was that he _knew_ something was coming, and not knowing when was wearing on him. He’d grown impatient enough that now he was considering just crawling into Mr. White’s lap and getting down to business so they could finally stop pretending there was anything else going on here.

What stopped him was that, really, he didn’t want to. Stop pretending, that is. And he probably didn’t want to do whatever it was they were eventually going to be doing tonight, either.

He was less sure about that, though.

He guessed Mr. White must have gotten tired of feeling him fidget, because he finally turned to him. “I was thinking,” he started, and Jesse made an effort to keep his expression both neutral and unguarded.

“Thinking about what?”

“I thought we might try something.”

Jesse waited for him to finish the thought, but Mr. White apparently had nothing more to say. Instead, he abruptly cupped his hand to the back of Jesse’s head, and gave Jesse a brief, strange, worrying look—uncertainty, for sure, but combined with some other things that Jesse couldn't name. He only had a few seconds to try and figure it out, though, before Mr. White forced Jesse's head down, letting him enjoy a terrifyingly close view of the bulge in the front of Mr. White's pants.

Mr. White resisted Jesse's initial attempt to pull away, and although for a moment his panicky instinct was to struggle harder, he made the effort to hold himself still, calm himself down.

He wasn’t an idiot; he’d known this was going to happen eventually.

Still, he wanted it on record that he objected. “Yo, Mr. White, I don’t...I mean, I never...”

“I know, I know. I just want you to try. Okay? Just try. You can do it.”

Jesse found it infuriating that Mr. White could sound so fucking reasonable when he was still pushing Jesse’s head down, but he took a deep calming breath, and when Mr. White used his free hand to get his pants undone and release his cock, Jesse didn't find it too difficult to let him guide it into his mouth.

Mr. White’s grip on the back of his head was unyielding, but he didn’t push too far right away, seemingly honest in his intention to let Jesse try this out, to let him get used to the taste and the texture and the mechanics of the act rather than expecting him to get right to work. And as long as that was the case, Jesse thought it wouldn't kill him to make the effort. He applied a little suction, played around a little with where to put his tongue and how to use it, and finally took Mr. White a little deeper and then pulled back, setting up a rhythm of very shallow movements. Through it all Mr. White was rigid, awkward, but he waited.

And then he stopped waiting.

He pushed Jesse’s head down further and lifted his hips at the same time, and suddenly any illusion of control or even involvement Jesse had had surrounding this act was gone. Mr. White took over, and Jesse could only hold on and be vaguely grateful that he wasn’t being gagged as Mr. White held his head still and very deliberately fucked his mouth.

There was too much saliva pooling under his tongue; it was driving him crazy with the urge to swallow, but he was afraid if he swallowed he’d choke and start to cough. There was a twinge in his back from being bent over at this angle and he wanted to shift forward a little on the couch to relieve it, but he was afraid of shifting too far and falling. His jaw started to ache, and the corners of his mouth stung. But more than anything, the quiet was making him anxious. Mr. White’s breathing had grown heavy and loud, but otherwise he was silent. There were no sounds of pleasure, no encouraging words, nothing, and that bothered him.

And then, with no warning, it was over; Mr. White spasmed and filled his mouth, the taste both salty and bitter. He was still gripping Jesse’s head, preventing him from pulling away, and immediately, Jesse felt his breath piling up in his chest. He squirmed, squeezed his eyes shut and sharply reminded himself not to panic. He tried breathing through his nose, but that only gave him the disgusting sensation of nearly drawing what was in his mouth up into his nasal passages. Briefly, he had a vivid memory of making Jake spray milk out his nose at the dinner table, and he flushed—then curled his hands into fists and made himself swallow.

Finally, he was released. He took a couple of gasping breaths, wiped at his mouth, and then warily forced himself to look at Mr. White. He realized he was waiting for a verdict.

But Mr. White didn’t offer one; he asked for one instead. “So...how was it?”

Jesse was startled into a sardonic laugh, and he gave a deliberately unhelpful shake of his head. That was all the answer Mr. White deserved after that.

“You have nothing to say?” Mr. White asked, sounding a little irritated, which struck Jesse as unfair.

“Yo, you wanna know what it’s like, you can try it yourself sometime.”

He expected Mr. White to get pissy, maybe even enough to leave. Instead, he offered Jesse a sly smile. “Are you asking me to return the favor?”

Jesse gaped at him. There was no way that was going to happen. No way. Except that Mr. White had dropped the smirk and seemed to be totally serious.

“Jesse, is that what you're asking?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Mr. White looked taken aback at that. Taken aback and maybe a little hurt, too. Jesse felt more confused than ever.

“Why not? It’s only fair. Assuming it’s what you want, that is.”

“Okay.” He said it a little distrustfully.

“That’s a yes?”

“I guess...I mean, yeah. Of course. Now are you actually gonna do it, or are you just fucking around?”

Mr. White gave him that sly smile again, and then slipped to his knees in front of Jesse. Jesse’s eyes nearly bugged out at the sight, and he swallowed hard. He reached tentatively for his belt, still expecting Mr. White to announce that he was only kidding, because of course he would never really do it; it was all some kind of joke or lesson or punishment. But Mr. White gently batted Jesse’s hands out of the way so he could undo Jesse’s pants himself, and so Jesse scooted forward a little, slouched down, and let Mr. White do what he wanted.

Which was, apparently, to be a fucking tease. He held Jesse still, pinning his hips down against the futon, and started a campaign to drive Jesse completely insane, licking slowly along Jesse’s entire length, kissing around the base, sucking lightly at just the head, sometimes just _breathing_ on him.

Jesse was sure the extra effort was meant to be some kind of one-upmanship or teaching attempt or some other bullshit, something to make Jesse feel inadequate or lazy or guilty. It wasn’t working, though – and screw him, anyway; if he’d wanted Jesse to do a better job, he shouldn’t have pushed his head down.

As Mr. White pulled his mouth back from Jesse’s cock once again to flick his tongue over the head, Jesse failed to suppress a frustrated whine and reached out to put his hand on the back of Mr. White’s head. He caught himself just in time, let the hand flop uselessly back onto the couch. It wasn’t just that he thought Mr. White might get mad; it also occurred to him that Mr. White’s whole Lex Luthor vibe might make the whole thing too weird.

Jesse wanted to stay quiet like Mr. White had, but he quickly found it impossible. After a while, Mr. White responded to Jesse’s little moans and whimpers by taking most of him in his mouth, bobbing his head steadily and applying constant, maddening suction. Jesse fought the grip Mr. White had on his hips, desperate to thrust into that welcoming heat, and, amazingly, he was allowed; Mr. White released his hips, moving one hand to fondle Jesse’s balls.

Jesse groaned and bucked up, forgetting himself and gripping the back of Mr. White’s head. Mr. White gave a small hum of approval that he felt first in his cock and then in the whole rest of his body, an agonizingly pleasurable thrum. He felt Mr. White suck a little more forcefully, at the same time that he dragged a couple fingers back and forth across Jesse's perineum and then pressed them hard against it.

Jesse jolted, froze, and then came.

As he shuddered through the aftershocks, Mr. White finally pulled back and sat back down on the couch. Jesse looked at him and felt a guilty kind of satisfaction over not having given him any warning. What had Mr. White said? It was only fair.

Then Mr. White kissed him, gently but thoroughly, threading a hand through Jesse’s hair as he did it, and any mean-spirited thoughts about revenge and turnabout faded.

Normally Jesse didn’t like to kiss afterward—had in fact always been kind of grossed out at being able to taste himself on someone else’s tongue. But with Mr. White’s taste still in his own mouth, it made no sense to complain.

They sat there on Jesse’s futon kissing with no escalation for a long time, long enough for it to stop being nice and start being kind of weird again. Then out of nowhere Mr. White announced that he had to get home. Jesse watched him get up, and offered a _sure, whatever_ to his promise to call or visit him sometime in the next couple days. When he’d gone, Jesse found himself with nothing better to do than go right to bed.

He woke up the next morning, for the first time in longer than he could remember, with the urge to draw. He latched on to the desire with pathetic urgency, keenly excited. He hurriedly went about getting himself ready to leave his house for the first time in days and went out to an art supply store he hadn’t visited in over a year. He walked around the place for a lot longer than he needed to, overcome with a bittersweet nostalgia.

The last time he’d really thought about his art was with Jane.

Finally, he grabbed a couple sketchpads and some colored pencils, and, with some reluctance, went back home. He sat himself down on the futon with the sketchpad open in front of him on the coffee table, and waited for inspiration.

He was still staring at a blank white page, frustration mounting into genuine despair, when he heard the door open some time later. He didn’t have to look up to know it was Mr. White, and he felt a little trickle of resentment that he’d let himself in without bothering to knock. No way would he let Jesse get away with doing that.

“I can’t stay long—I have to go have dinner with my family. I just wanted to see how you were.”

“Wanted to check up on me, you mean?”

Mr. White just looked at him mildly, and Jesse felt a flush of embarrassment that only compounded his resentment.

“I’m fine,” he asserted. “I still got nothing to do, but, hey, at least I’m staying outta trouble, right?”

Mr. White looked uncomfortable. He took a sweeping look around the room, and he was gazing into a corner when he started to reply. “I'm sure you must feel...”

He faltered. Jesse raised his eyebrows, waiting for Mr. White to finish the sentence, waiting for him to actually put his finger on it, to say _bored_ or _trapped_ or some more perfect word that hadn't come to Jesse yet. The conversation that would follow was one that Jesse had been avoiding, but right now he thought it would feel damn good.

But Mr. White just shook his head and waved his hand vaguely, dismissing it. They stood there in awkward silence for a while, and Jesse soon started feeling antsy.

“Did you, like, want something?”

“Something?”

Jesse didn’t clarify; he wasn’t even sure what he was talking about himself, or if it was even actually a question and not some sort of invitation.

Mr. White seemed to decide it amounted to the same thing either way. “I don’t have much time, but as long as I’m here, I thought maybe...”

“Okay.”

“It probably won’t...I mean...”

“Fine, I said.”

Mr. White cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. After a few seconds, though, the assessing look disappeared, and he smiled. Then he closed the distance between them and pressed a brief kiss to the corner of Jesse’s mouth. He pulled back and gave Jesse an open, fond look that Jesse found a little disorienting; he dropped his eyes and felt himself blush.

Jesse was stunned to then find himself being propelled backward. He struck the wall with shocking force; his back went instantly numb and the wind was knocked out of him. He didn’t have more than a second to recover before Mr. White’s tongue was in his mouth and his hands were unbuckling his belt.

As soon as Jesse’s pants were undone, Mr. White turned him around, yanked them down, and pushed him forward against the wall. Jesse bent over as much as he could without having to worry about falling and braced himself with his arms. Almost before he had his elbows locked, Mr. White slipped a finger into him.

He wasted no time letting Jesse get used to it, starting with the second after a couple of perfunctory thrusts, and before two fingers stopped feeling like too much, he withdrew his hand. Jesse heard him spit, and then immediately Mr. White was pushing up inside him.

Christ, it _burned_. Holy fuck. He thought it had hurt the first time, but that was nothing compared to this.

He tried, but he couldn’t stop the pained sounds from slipping out. Mr. White made an absent sympathetic noise, but he didn’t wait, just pulled out and thrust in again right away, hands closing with vice-like tightness on Jesse’s hips. Jesse clenched his jaw.

He wanted to spread his legs a little more, but he couldn’t, not with his pants still around his ankles, and he was pretty sure that there was no way to kick them off now without making Mr. White stop. If he tried he’d probably lose his balance and either go slamming face-first into the wall or else knock the both of them to the floor. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus on his breathing, trying to find the best way to sync it with Mr. White’s thrusts to keep himself quiet, and waited for it to be over.

But then Mr. White said his name, moaned it low in his ear, and Jesse’s concentration faltered. Something swelled achingly in his chest. He laid his forehead against the wall, the plaster cool against his skin, and silently begged him to do it again.

After a short while he did, and Jesse groaned, feeling heat pool in his groin. It still hurt, he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to stop hurting before it was over this time, judging by the speed and force with which Mr. White was moving and the painful way his fingers were digging into Jesse’s hips, but suddenly that was a lot less important – meaningless almost, next to listening for the next utterance of his name.

“Good, Jesse. God, so good,” Mr. White croaked, his thrusts becoming short and frenzied and erratic, and even as Jesse braced himself more securely against the wall, he flushed all over, head spinning from the pleasure.

Mr. White came with a loud grunt, bucking wildly for a few seconds before going still and rigid. As the tension slowly drained away, he pressed in close against Jesse’s back, slipped his hands up from Jesse’s hips to wrap around his waist in an awkward sort-of hug that made Jesse shiver and made that aching feeling in his chest flare up again. Jesse squeezed his eyes shut and listened as Mr. White’s ragged breathing started to even out.

When it had, Mr. White pulled out but still not away, and Jesse waited, motionless and silent, trying to concentrate on the good feeling of having Mr. White’s arms around him instead of the almost maddeningly unpleasant one of warm wetness starting to run down his leg.

He felt Mr. White press a barely-there kiss just below his ear. “Okay?” he asked, almost inaudibly, and Jesse nodded. Mr. White gave his waist a light squeeze before retracting his arms and stepping away.

Jesse found himself unable to muster the energy to turn around. Suddenly exhausted, he just wanted to lean into the wall and zone out, if not actually doze off. Behind him, he heard Mr. White zipping up his pants and doing his belt, but it sounded far away and unimportant.

“Shit, I, uh...I really have to go,” he heard, and that brought reality back a little. He started to turn, but the sudden shocks of pain and the fact that his pants were still around his ankles meant he had to shuffle slowly, and by the time he was facing Mr. White, he was already at the door. He left without another word or a look back.

Jesse gingerly tried to lean back against the wall, but even moving carefully, the pain in his back was reawoken by the contact, and he winced and stepped away. Disgusted at the thought of simply standing there any longer with his pants down, he decided he’d taken enough time to recover. He slowly stepped out of his jeans and boxers and went to the bathroom to take a hot shower and find some Tylenol. Then he threw some clothes on and went back out to the living room.

He eased himself down on the couch. For a minute he stared at the sketchbook in front of him with a helpless longing. Then he swept it violently to the floor.

He could really go for a bump right now.

Jesse pushed the thought out of his mind; he’d made a promise to Mr. White, and he meant to keep it.

He propped his feet up on the table, ignoring the dull sparks of pain that arose. Then he turned on the TV, and went back to waiting.

[Parts 5-6](http://readishmael.livejournal.com/5027.html)


End file.
